


Encore

by andsylphy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Last Minute Apologies, One Shot, Promises, Short work, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7432584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsylphy/pseuds/andsylphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When we actually die, I'll meet you at the fork in the road."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encore

 Déjà vu was hard enough when it wasn’t the same situation that nearly cost you your life. It was hard to keep calm when your mind reels memories like a double feature. A good one, a bad one, a good one, a bad one. Remember the last time you were here? The argument seemed so petty now even though he knew he was wrong. Even though he’d tried to accommodate. Even though there wasn’t anything he could have done to quell the rage in a man scorned, rightfully so.

 Stories that need not be shared, too personal to bring up. Deception, betrayal, love, and hate. The longer it goes on, the more like puppets the two of them must look like. The sun and the moon chasing each other day after night after day. But he was no Sun, and Reaper was no Moon. Every shifting moment brings the weight on harder, makes breathing just a little bit more difficult.

 How many battles had they been in? How many times would they think they had seen the last of each other. How many times would they try to stop, try to change, try to let bad blood dry?

 How regretful would they be when they realized it was too late?

 Whose bomb was it that rocked the foundation? Which of them realized first that they would be caught in the downfall; that they would _both_ be caught in the downfall. An encore to the first time. What would likely be the last time. A play that had no second opening night. When the rubble falls, death does not discriminate, it has no favoritism for those that favor it, no mercy for those that try to be just. The weight of memories had almost more power to crush than the concrete weighing down upon him. The signal for his communicator was blocked under the sheer amount of destroyed building. The dust of the debris sneaks in past his mask and pulls hard coughs from him, brings attention to the other trapped down here with him. There’s a wild look in his eyes, from a rush of adrenaline.

 He was entombed in a disaster again with the Reaper. With an ‘old friend’. He can see his furrowed brow through a cracked mask, drips of blood from a wound on his forehead staining the off-white of the mask that seemed to glower at anyone it faced. But half gone, he could see a pained expression on the other’s face. There was no easy escape this time for either of them. There was no Angela to pull them back from the brink. No one to say once more unto the breach to two men who couldn’t call each other dear friends any longer.

 Through the sound of Gabriel struggling, he called out to him.

 “Reyes… we’re not going to get out of this, are we?”

 There’s no reply from the other pinned man, the other victim of war. The slighted, the inciter, the instigator, the victim, the martyr, the villain. How many different titles could one man hold? The man once called Jack Morrison could only wonder how many he himself carried.

 They would both be carrying the title of ‘deceased’ soon enough.

 “Is this the encore, or do you think this is just the intermission? Stuck here with you once more brings back a bad taste in my mouth.”

 He can see metal talons scratching at mounds of foundation, a steel rod piercing the other’s chest, another straight through his right knee. Still fighting. Still scraping for another chance. The mercenary reaches to free himself, the old soldier reaches out to aid, knowing his own struggle would make it end faster. They clasp their hands and pull. It’s not enough. The strength of their wills isn't enough to compensate the lack of it in their bodies. Both is still quickly fading. Neither lets go.

 “You going to say any last words?”

 “There aren’t going to be any last words for me, Morrison.”

 “That’s nice. My last for you are ‘I’m sorry’.”

 The crackle of fire around them is all that can be heard for a few moments before Reaper speaks again. There’s still malice in his tone, but he can’t tell if it’s directed more at him or at the circumstances that led them here.

 “What are you sorry for?”

 “Letting this get between us.” His voice sounds so quiet, he clears it, he tastes iron, it was probably blood.

 A sigh comes from the other. “Better late than never, I suppose.” The weight of tone on that last word almost said on its own how little that kind of apology meant to him. “How long do you think we’ll last?”

He feels a little too tired to reply, and he lets his eyes shut behind his cracked visor. Just for a minute. Reaper squeezes his hand to get his attention. “Morrison?” He shakes his arm a little. “Morrison, answer me!” There’s desperation there, like it was too soon to part.

 “I’m here, I’m just so tired.” Tired, cold, shallow of breath. He can hear the shift of the ruins around them, braces to feel more weight on his chest. He couldn’t even feel his legs anymore.

There’s a bit of a wavering sound in Reaper’s voice. It makes Soldier: 76 remember the last time. There was no comfort the last time. “It won’t be too much longer, but you have to wait for me.” Reaper coughs, he can see blood drip from Reyes’ mouth to a small spot onto the ground. There was a bit of nausea building up inside.

 He could barely feel his fingers anymore, no matter how hard of a squeeze Reyes gave him. He tries to support him like he couldn’t the last time. Tried to say that he would be there now.

 “When we actually die, I’ll meet you at the fork in the road.”

 “How do you know there’s a fork in the road?”

 Silence.

“ _Jack?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to Momther


End file.
